Beauty and worth, alone in her, contend
To charm the fancy, and to fix the mind:
In her, my wife, my mistress, and my friend,
I taste the joys of sense and reason join'd.
On her I'll gaze, when others loves are o'er,
And dying, press her with my clay-cold hand——
Thou weep'st already, as I were no more,
Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand.
XX.
Oh! when I die, my latest moments spare,
Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill,
Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair,
Tho' I am dead my soul shall love thee still.
XXI.
Oh quit the room, oh quit the deathful bed,
Or thou wilt die, so tender is thy heart!
O leave me, delia! ere thou see me dead,
These weeping friends will do thy mournful part.
XXII.
Let them extended on the decent bier,
Convey the corse in melancholy state,
Thro' all the village spread the tender tear,
While pitying maids our wond'rous loves relate.